


1000 words

by oldmythologies



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M, Swing Dancing, Unrelated chapters, based on art
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-30
Updated: 2017-09-04
Packaged: 2018-12-21 20:25:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,187
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11951970
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oldmythologies/pseuds/oldmythologies
Summary: They say a picture tells a thousand words. Sometimes, I see art and feel the need to write those words down. A series of drabbles based on various pieces of fan art.





	1. Sheith - Modern AU - alilyushka

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Based on [this piece by alilyushka on tumblr!](http://alilyushka.tumblr.com/post/148246398622/shiro-goes-on-a-mission-and-asks-keith-to-wait)

No matter how many times Shiro kissed him, Keith never got used to it. It was something new and infinitely young, the feel of soft, dry lips against his own, even just briefly, sending a flush into his cheeks. He didn’t know where to put his hands yet. It was something new for Shiro, too, but this was always the sort of thing that Shiro just picked up. He noticed the little sounds Keith made when he threaded his fingers back through his hair, so he started doing that. He noticed how Keith gripped back when he wrapped their hands together, so he did that. It was nice. God, it was nice, but he had no idea where to put his hands.

He had been excited to learn.

Shiro was off on another story, hopping on another plane, heading to another part of the world. His work was important, Keith knew. Shiro would get this light in his eyes when he talked about all the people he got to meet, the meals he got to share, the stories he got to tell. _It’s the closest we can get to exploring the universe_ , he’d said, _until space travel gets affordable._ He’d laughed, having written piece on SpaceX just a month before.

This week, he was heading to Syria to write a piece on the life of the refugees.

They’d finally said something, started holding hands, sharing soft, new kisses in the night, but it was something they could pick back up when he got back. _It’ll only be a few weeks_ , he’d promised.

And then Shiro become a martyr: a horror story they told young journalists to keep them from reaching beyond safety. Shiro would have hated it.

Curled up with one of Shiro’s old, forgotten sweaters, Keith thought about how much he would hate it, for people to use his story to crush dreams, to keep people from seeing the world. It didn’t smell like him. It hadn’t smelled like him for months. Shiro had been gone for seven months. He’d been pronounced legally dead for five.

Keith thought about how he’d kiss him if he ever came back. He didn’t even know if it was a kiss he wanted. Really, he just wanted the opportunity to hold him. He wanted to wrap his arms around Shiro’s broad shoulders, to press his face into his neck, to feel the sinew of his back once more. He was starting to forget what Shiro’s hands felt like, what his voice sounded like, exactly how tall he was and all of his little quirks.

And when they found him.

God, when they found him.

It was all over the news. _Dead journalist found after 14 months missing_. He was on the news before Keith got to see him in person. He stared at the TV, watching the cameras chase a man with white streaks in his hair and one arms. The tears fell before Keith could blink, the flickering blue of the screen reflected in his eyes. He didn’t get a good look at his face, but the shape of those shoulders, it was unmistakable. It was Shiro. He wasn’t walking as tall as he had, and there was a limp in every step, but it was him.

And then Shiro called him.

“Keith,” he’d heard, shaky and static through the receiver.

He didn’t know what to say. He never knew what to say. Shiro was always happy to sit in his silences, indulge his rants, and fill the silence when it needed filling. Now, he had nothing to say. He just needed that voice to keep going.

“Keep talking,” he’d said, and Shiro did, not much else, just that he missed him, and that he didn’t have anywhere to stay, and no, it wasn’t a shaky connection, that was just how he spoke, like there was glass between them and Shiro was afraid to step on it or to speak too loud.

Keith had agreed to pick him up at the airport. He’d folded Shiro’s sweater up, the one he’d take when they pronounced him dead and called his emergency contact to come get his things, and he put it in a drawer.

The airport was loud. Keith had never noticed how loud. He’d flown before, once or twice, but now the sounds, the smells imported from around the world, were ever present. He wondered what Shiro smelled like now.

Plane after plane emptied out of their terminals, a sea of faces and colors, none of which looked like Shiro. He knew Shiro would look different. He’d seen him on the news, even if just from behind. The front of his hair was white now, he walked different, he was just a little bit broader, and Keith was worried he’d miss him.

But then Shiro came into view.

There was no way to miss him. He was just as beautiful as the day Keith saw him last. His smile was smaller, his eyes sadder, but it was him.

Keith’s feet started moving before he did, Shiro stepping off the escalator and only having a second to look lonely before Keith his him. He wrapped his arms around Shiro’s broad shoulders, pressed his face into his neck, felt the sinew of his back once more. It was different than he remembered, and now, Shiro only had one arm to hold him back, and he smelled different than that old sweater, but he was warm, and he was right there.

Shiro didn’t say anything either, breathing Keith in, noting the longer hair, the little changes only peripherally. He let himself be held.

“You waited,” he finally said, a hushed sound meant only for Keith.

Keith pulled back, bringing his hands up to cup Shiro’s face. He’d been waiting for over a year.

This time, Keith kissed him. He closed his eyes, brushed Shiro’s cheek with his thumb, and melted into it. Rough, dry lips against his own. It was longer than a kiss as chaste as this one normally was, and when Keith pulled away to let them both breathe, he kept his forehead against Shiro’s and refused to move his hands.

“Always.”


	2. Sheith - Swing Dancing - gentlemandeerlord

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Based on [this piece by gentlemandeerlord on tumblr!](http://gentlemandeerlord.tumblr.com/post/163697502189/some-teenie-little-sheith-swing-dancing-sketches-i)

Keith applied himself to dancing with the same single-minded determination that he used in all things, pulling Shiro away at every possible free moment to practice.

Shiro was walking out of yet another absurdly long meeting with Kolivan and the Blades when he felt fingers wrap around his own and pull him back. The first time it had happened, Shiro had fought the urge to light up his arm and swing. Now, with his familiarity of Keith’s tactics, Shiro just smiled down at his shoes.

“Keith,” he whined, not even bothering to turn around and check, “I’m exhausted, we can practice tomorrow, I promise.”

Keith draped his arms over Shiro’s neck and Shiro started walking, dragging Keith along behind him. A few months ago, Keith never would have touched him without express permission to do so; a few months ago, Keith would never ask for more than he was given because if he did, he thought that what he had would be taken away. Now, Shiro could feel Keith’s pout as if it had its own gravity.

“Shiro,” he said, “I think I’ve finally figured out the thing.”

Shiro stopped in his tracks. “No, you did? And you know how to do the flip at the end?”

He turned to catch Keith’s smiling eyes, leaning on his shoulder. His excitement was infectious. He shook his head.

“No, you’re doing the flip. I’m going to lead, I think I can do it.”

Shiro raised a brow at Keith. “Are you sure? I’m not exactly light, with this thing attached to me.” 

He wiggled the fingers of his metal arm and Keith cocked his head, mischief alive in his eyes.

“That’s not a no,” he responded and Shiro rolled his eyes, the tired ache of his muscles being replaced, bit by bit, with the buzz of excitement that was carried to him through Keith. He turned.

“Well, I have always said that I want you to lead Voltron, I guess this is how it—“

Keith slapped his shoulder, knocking Shiro’s laugh out of his lungs. “You know what I mean.”

Shiro nodded, grinning. “Let’s do it.”

Keith grabbed Shiro’s hand and pulled, this time Keith dragging Shiro to the main hall of the castle. They used to practice on the training deck, but this felt right. They were using the space for what it was meant to be used for. They were bringing light and song into a place that had so long been deprived of it. It was just two of them and the same three tracks of electroswing from Pidge’s music library (Shiro would have preferred old big band music, but they made do), but it was life that the ballroom so desperately needed.

Shiro insisted that they stretch first, every time. Keith impatiently followed Shiro’s movements without the same level of flexibility. Shiro would fold himself in half and hold his knees, and Keith would just barely reach his toes.

Before Shiro was satisfied with his stretch, Keith would convince him to start. This time, Shiro only got a few muscle groups all warm and ready before Keith pulled him into the center of the ballroom and asked the music to play. The first of their three tracks started with a simulated record scratch sound and Shiro prepared himself. Keith wasn’t used to leading and Shiro wasn’t used to following.

The second that first note hit, Keith was pulling and pushing, throwing Shiro around to his other side with the hand on his waist. Shiro couldn’t fight the laugh that erupted from his chest as he was flung across the floor like he weighed nothing. The hand left his waist and he jumped along with the movement, extending his other arm out from the axis of their hands, two stars tied in orbit with each other.

His eyes were flickering between Keith’s feet and his eyes, alight with adrenaline, as he followed Keith’s movements. They were starting simple. A little bit of fancy footwork on Keith’s part, but since Shiro had taught him the steps in the first place, he had no trouble following.

Keith pulled Shiro into his chest, grinning, replacing the hand on his waist, and spun them both.

“Ready?” Keith asked, not waiting for a reply as he pushed Shiro away and spread his legs.

Shiro didn’t even need to reply, jumping along with the motion. Keith pulled once more and Shiro swung down between Keith’s legs, his back sliding against the polished floor. He popped up on the other side and Keith spun him back around, falling into a simple step, Shiro kicking back when Keith kicked forward, Shiro kicking forward when Keith kicked back. The music began to fade.

“That wasn’t too hard,” Keith said. Shiro chose to ignore how out of breath he sounded.

The music stopped and they stopped their feet. Shiro laughed. “Man, following is so much fun! Did that feel okay?”

Keith was smiling as he grabbed his bottle of water, tossing Shiro his own. “More than okay.”

They both gulped down their share of water and placed the bottles back on the edge of the room.

“You sure you’re ready for this one? You do basically have to pick me up with very little help.”

Keith shrugged. “I’ve been practicing.”

The song started and their dance started in a similar fashion to the last one: lots of Keith pushing Shiro away, spinning him around like a top, and pulling him back in close. Their feet moved instinctively, knowing exactly which steps the other would do. Even with their usual positions reversed, they had an unspoken understanding and knowledge of each other. They’d been working together long enough to have earned that. Shiro knew exactly what Keith was going to do just by the set of his shoulders, the particular quirk of his smile, they way his eyes scrunched.

Shiro don’t know when both of them started laughing, but every time their bodies twisted, the uncontrollable giggles became more and more apparent.

The song was building. Shiro knew exactly when Keith would go for it.

He pushed Shiro back, and Shiro took a few more before running at Keith with a grin. Before they met, Shiro flipped down, landing on his hands in front of Keith. He trusted Keith to catch him.

Keith caught the back of his hips and pulled, Shiro’s legs hooking behind Keith’s back and helping him along. As Shiro flipped over Keith’s head, he grabbed onto Keith’s thighs, catching himself before he could thud painfully against the ground. They were two weights connected to a string, intrinsically tied to each other. Keith pulled him forward and up until they were standing nose to nose.

The music stopped and all that was left was their heavy breathing and giggles. Shiro fell into Keith’s shoulder and laughed.

“That was amazing, Keith! Can you lead forever?”

Keith laughed with him. “As long as we’re only talking about dancing.”

Shiro pulled back and laid a chaste, short kiss on Keith’s lips.

“I’m not going anywhere, babe.”

Keith rolled his eyes but the playful light never left them. “You say that  _ now _ .”

Shiro grabbed both his and Keith’s bottles and slung an arm around Keith’s shoulders, pulling them back up to their room. “I say that forever.”

Keith leaned into Shiro’s hold as they walked back to their rooms for some much needed rest.

  
  



	3. Shklance - Fluff - onesmolhurt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Based on [this piece by onesmolhurt on tumblr!](http://onesmolhurt.tumblr.com/post/162792996264/soft-shklance-fluff-i-drew-for-shklancebigbangs)

Shiro, most of the time, hated how absurdly soft Lance’s bed was. He liked piles and piles of blankets, dozens of pillows, and the softest mattress they could find in space. It all just seemed superfluous to him. He knew that at one point he had loved the absurdity of excess, his bed at the garrison looking very similar to Lance’s, but ever since he got back, anything more than a single, thin blanket seemed selfish. His body was used to sleeping on the bare floor and there was a certain wrongness in the luxury of it all.

It didn’t help that most of the time, his brain liked to pretend that the blankets were wrapped around his limbs, pinning him down, that the pillows were there to brace his head and keep his back from arching in distress. Whenever things got hot and heavy and Lance pressed Shiro up against the door to his room, Keith was able to divert them.

Keith was always good at reading him like that. He always saw when Shiro’s right fist started clenching and unclenching and he grit his teeth, trying to force the pain of a limb long gone from his nerves. Keith saw when Shiro’s eyes went distant or his legs started trembling under some unseen weight.

Keith caught the signs, but Lance was always the best at figuring what to do about them. When Shiro’s phantom hand started acting up, Lance would force him to sit down. He gave the best back rubs in the whole world. When the past crept up on him and he forget who he was, it was Lance who would force Shiro’s silver eyes to meet his own blue. He would sing, talk, tell stories, touch his face, his hands, his back, giving Shiro just enough points of contact to have something to grab onto and pull him home.

They were both too good for him. They were patient and considerate and every time he started trembling in front of Lance’s door, Keith knew to move their sessions another door or two down the hall to his or Shiro’s rooms, both more barren and therefore more comfortable. Lance would pout but keep his protests to himself. He understood. They’d both seen the night terrors and knew that despite Shiro’s brave face, parts of him couldn’t fight the lingering feeling that he couldn’t be safe, not anymore.

One night, lying semi-naked in Keith’s bed with them, his head pillowed on Lance’s lap as Keith slept on his other side, Lance’s long fingers threading through his white hair, Shiro spoke.

“I’m sorry,” he started, voice breaking the comfortable silence they’d built, “I know you’d rather be in your bed.”

Lance’s hand stilled and Shiro turned his head to look up at him. 

“Why do you think that?” Lance asked, perplexed. His hand went back to gently scratching Shiro’s scalp.

“It’s just so different. It’s all warm and soft. I know you like that stuff.”

“Of course I do,” he whispered back, “that’s why I like you.”

Shiro softly laughed into Lance’s leg, careful not to jostle Keith too much. “There’s just so much going on. Sensory overload.”

It was Lance’s turn to laugh. “You can handle sex with both of us, at the same time, and the pillows are too much?”

Shiro’s snicker faded away into silence and Lance’s movements slowed in his hair.

“I don’t know what it is,” he eventually said, “but it just makes my skin itch, if that makes sense. I remember it being comfortable, but now it just feels so wrong. It feels fake.”

Lance ignored the way his heart broke for the tired man breathing into his lap. “Shiro, my darling, I promise, it’s just as soft and sweet and real as you are.”

Shiro nodded into Lance’s skin. “I know, I know. I just lose it, my grasp on that, sometimes.”

A few more moments of silence. Lance let Shiro think.

“I miss it.” He finally continued.

It was Lance’s chance to think, but eventually, he too spoke into the quiet. 

“I’ll tell you what. Tomorrow, we try my bed,” Shiro took a sharp breath, “and if it gets to you, you can bother me or Keith or whoever you want and we will remind you exactly where you are.” A short pause. “Dicks may be involved in the distraction.”

Shiro burst out into giggles, muffling them in Lance’s skin. Keith mumbled in his sleep and pushed himself further into Shiro’s back.

“We can try,” he acquiesced, “and we’ll see if we need to involve the dicks.”

Lance guffawed, not even trying to quiet himself. Keith groaned awake.

“No laugh,” he muttered, “only sleep.”

“Yes sir.” Shiro answered, pulling Lance down to lay his head down next to theirs. Keith made some more barely cohesive noises before he fell back asleep, shortly followed by Lance and Shiro.

The next night, Keith was the first to lay down in Lance’s plush bedding. He motioned for Shiro, who took a deep breath before laying down beside him. Lance laid down right on top of Shiro, looping one hand under his shoulders to brush through the tuft just like Shiro liked.

The lights dimmed automatically.

“How does it feel?” Keith asked, laying his head on Shiro’s chest.

“Warm.”

Shiro didn’t wake up once that night. Not even the lights rising in the morning could wake them up, too comfortable in each other’s arms to let the day pull them from the home they’d found so far from home.

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on tumblr and send me things to write about [@oldmythos](http://oldmythos.tumblr.com)


End file.
